


Sins, solace and second chances

by Thatkliqkid



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkliqkid/pseuds/Thatkliqkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles. Written in the time it takes for a song to finish (with a few exceptions). Mainly focuses on Shawn Michaels and Triple H. Some SLASH at times. Some reference to drug abuse at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When you cry

Shawn wishes he had the vocabulary to express the pain he cages within, that agony he dulls with the thirty or forty pills he takes each day. When that mellowness kicks in, it's like flying, and the incessant need to prove he's good enough gets further and further away, until he can almost forget how much of a screw up he feels.   
And then he sees the look in Hunter's eyes. That weighted disappointment, and it's back.   
And he hates it.   
Not as much as he hates himself, but he hates it nonetheless.   
So the bravado amplifies itself, the cockiness, the bite to his words, until Hunter hurts as much as he does. Until he's forgotten what he was trying to do in the first place.


	2. Voices

Shawn can't remember when his conscience stopped talking to him. It was there when he was a kid. Don't steal. Don't give mom and dad lip. Don't hurt others.   
It got muted somewhere.   
He managed to tune it out. At first it was like a ratty FM radio, the voice distorted and tinny, but over the years it got more and more muffled, until he's not sure it's even there at all any more.   
As he rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes, if two hours even counts as sleep, and glances at the naked woman beside him, her beauty tarnished in the cold morning light, unveiled from the dark corners of some hazy club, he feels the alcohol still buzzing through his veins. Still feels the throb of over confidence.   
He sneaks out before she awakes. No goodbye kiss, no note, no thank you.   
No voice of reprimand.


	3. Light my fire

It was rare for them to have a night off, but here they were. Free from the constraints of house shows, no TV tapings and for once allowed to escape.   
Hunter was thrilled to be able to actually see more of a country than the arena, airport and local Denny's. Had actually managed to convince Shawn to try some local cuisine that didn't involve burgers, fries or pizza.   
He sat staring across the table, the restaurant far too fancy for them both, but adding to the hilarity of the evening. Violinists playing around the tables, whilst they loudly discussed the business.   
They didn't fit, but they were together, and so they'd do.


	4. Rockin' Robin

White socks and a lacy dress, billowing out with every jump. Pillows scattered and hair wild, flailing behind her, childish glee echoing through the house.   
Shawn looked up from the contract before him with a frown, each muffled thump a pause for thought, each high pitched squeal another argument against signing his name.   
His children liked when he was home.   
He liked when he was home.   
When he was on the road, he missed these simple pleasures.   
And he'd take Cheyenne's joy of him being there to see her bounce on the bed over another year in the WWE any day.


	5. Farewell my summer love

Their friendship began a spring night in April, the biggest night on the Wrestling calendar, but it was summer that brought the romance. Hot nights, drinking in bars, Hunter pepsi, Shawn adding a dash of Jack Daniels to his own, growing closer, growing comfortable.   
Shawn didn't have many friends, his attitude saw to that.   
But Hunter gave as good as he got, and didn't seem to let it bother him. He saw through Shawn as if he was a pane of glass. He knew what he needed.   
What he longed for.   
Acceptance. Reassurance.   
To be liked.


	6. The kill

Hunter gave him a choice.   
Pills or him.   
Life or death.   
Light or dark.   
The pills rattled in the vial.   
Shawn stared out across the river, the lights from the hotel bathing him in an orange glow.   
He glanced back, the wind whipping at his hair, ends sodden with the rain.   
With the bite of the tears, his weakness traced across his cheeks.   
The fear pulsating in his chest.  
He was terrified of going it alone.   
He feared losing Hunter more.   
He made his choice.  
The pills sank beneath the water.


	7. Guilt

Legacy’s music was thudding through them, each beat pulsating salt into an already agonising open wound, their battered bodies a quiver with the disgust of defeat and the steady throb of pain. 

Hunter crawled towards Shawn, fingers reaching desperately for the aching man. Shawn turned from the consoling touch, the warmth radiating from his hand overrode by the burn of shame a flame in his wracked torso. 

Pain spiderwebbed its way from the base of his spine, a solid hot mass of hurt, threaded to his shoulderblades. His knees stung, and he could feel the bruises blossoming on his skin from the fall he’d taken earlier. 

And still the hurt of letting Hunter down blazed harder, overpowering any physical toll. 

Hunter cradled Shawn’s face with his hand, fingers tracing his jawline, as he looked down. Shawn shifted beneath him, eyes seeking the ring post, the place where he’d failed so spectacularly, before his gaze became downcast and he sought the floor. Craved the sight of anything but Hunter’s face. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment. He didn’t think he could take any more suffering upon himself. The weight of guilt, already far too heavy for his weakened frame to carry. 

 

“I don’t care about the match.” Hunter said firmly, “I care about you” 

Shawn looked up, a storm wrenched blue meeting whiskey. Through the slits of pain he could see something more at the crest, there was no anger there, not for him. There was merely concern, the shadows of the fear that Hunter could have lost more than the match, that he could have lost Shawn. 

He felt the tension ebb from his body, the shame dulled, and didn’t set his heart aflame any more, instead gratitude kindled, fueled by relief, sparked into being by the strength of their friendship. By the low murmur Hunter had freely given,, meant only for Shawn’s ears. A balm to soothe the recurrent ache of low self esteem, of pity, self doubt and defeat. A relief of the guilt. An assurance that Shawn was prioritised far above victory, that their relationship did not lessen with defeat. 

Shawn held out a hand, allowing Hunter to pull him to his feet, melted against the solid stance as Hunter stood beside him, a protective arm warm around his shoulder as they made their way to the back.


	8. Stop and stare

Hunter was used to being liked. For Shawn it was a novelty, and one he still wasn't used to. He didn't really fathom why this young city kid seemed to be carrying a torch for him. And it was such a precious, fragile responsibility, to try and keep that flame burning. Shawn felt sure he could extinguish it permanently with every snap and snarl, each drunken rant, each intoxicated slur.   
But still he stayed, and it was beginning to fill Shawn with fear.  
Because if someone had that much unwarranted faith in him, if they liked him despite his flaws, he was either going to have to confront his demons, or watch Hunter crash and burn with him when they consumed him whole, black hands of narcissism grasping, teeth of self doubt devouring.   
He'd have to try and change.


	9. Heal the world

It was soothing, lying beneath the weight of Hunter's arm. Listening to the radio filter through that lazy place between sleep and waking, where optimism flourished. The place where real life hadn't yet invaded.   
"Rise and shine"   
Shawn groaned and turned his back to Hunter's cheerfulness, buried his face beneath the pillow in protest.   
"Five more minutes" he grunted into the mattress.  
"No can do Shawnie, we have to be on the road by six"   
"Five more minutes" repeated Shawn.   
"Shawn"  
He rived the pillow from his head and turned to face his lover.   
"I said, five. more. minutes." he said  
The anger was palpable. Hunter just laughed, he was used to Shawn's early morning tantrums.   
He pressed lips gently against Shawn's, diffusing the oncoming storm.


	10. How to save a life

An intervention, that's what it was called. Shawn remembered them through a haze of sketchy memories. Kevin tried. Rebecca tried. Hunter tried. God, had Hunter tried. In the end it was Cameron who had been the catalyst for leading him to Christ, for turning him from the path to death, showing him life.   
And God, how abundant was that life now that the blinkers were off. Now that he allowed himself to feel. Pain no longer dulled, the world was sharper, the colours brighter but the joy, the joy that followed the sorrow was so much sweeter. The way his heart filled with love, his chest lighter, the weight from his shoulders alleviated as Christ took that burden upon Himself, swapped it for the lightest yoke.   
It was freedom, like flying.   
No drugs required.   
Just the love of life.  
The gratitude for a second chance.   
The gratefulness of being rescued.


	11. You're a God

Idolatry came in many different forms. Money. Ego. Love. Lust. Drugs.   
Shawn had plenty. Crutches he used to get him through the day.   
He used to have one God. In three persons. The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.   
Now he had whiskey, ego and somas.   
Jack Daniels, coke and an attitude.  
It changed.   
He didn't really like returning to the silence of sacred spaces. Places where his mind had nothing to do but think.  
Freed from distractions he had to confront the things that he replaced God with weren't working.   
And they were no longer enough.  
No matter how many things he desperately tried to fill that hole, it remained a gaping abyss.   
A blackness at his centre. Longing for something else. For solace. Peace. Comfort.   
And he was sick of them.   
He wanted to let them go.


	12. Twelfth of never

You couldn't really put an expiry date on emotion. No matter what Shawn seemed to think.   
Hunter had seen him at his best, and at his worst. His highest and his lowest. Sometimes the two were simultaneous.   
But still he loved him, no matter what hurtful bile Shawn purged upon him.  
He accepted it all, sometimes with open arms.   
Every grievance, every rant. Just let the sour breath waft over him, let the torrent of self rejection rage against him.   
Because when Shawn aimed it at Hunter he was desperate.   
And the least he could do was be a life raft for the drowning man to hold onto.


End file.
